CHAPTER TEN

 

By mid-evening, helicopters and the Coast Guard were able to confirm Oyster Cove’s deadliest storm in recent memory. Well, it was technically the worst storm in a lifetime of memory, but it was not the deadliest because no one’s boat had gone out. No one had been caught unawares in this fearsome killer storm. Everyone was able to sleep snug and relieved in their beds. Yes, a lot of income had been lost. But even that could have been worse. Their ships would have sunk straight to the bottom, along with untold lives.

It could’ve been the most tragic day of the town’s life. Instead, it was the most grateful, the most deliriously relieved, and the day that would be spoken of for years to come.

*****

The rain was falling so heavily the following morning that Martine just listened to it from her bed, in no hurry to get up. It was slated to stop by midafternoon as the storm finally did veer off due east. Until then, she was just going to hunker down in her apartment and contemplate the messy confusion that had become her life.

A knock on the door made her wonder whether she had lost track of one of her hacker appointments. Hopefully, they wouldn’t mind that she was still in her bathrobe. But it was Morgan, sopping wet and absolutely speechless.

“Get in here. Nope. That’s far enough. Stand right there. This is a nice hardwood floor.”

She ran to get big terrycloth towels. “You came out in this horrible weather without so much as an umbrella, and you think I’m crazy,” Martine scolded as she helped pull off his jacket and dried his hair and beard.

Morgan took the scolding gladly, particularly since it involved having Martine so close to him, patting him dry.

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you. I will never be able to thank you for what you did. For what you prevented. For what you didn’t let happen.”

It always feels good to be right. Especially when the one who was wrong doesn’t begrudge you one tiny bit. The Beaumonts were safe. They were definitely both on the same side of that concern.

“Did you sleep on your boat?” asked Martine, thinking of the storm-tossed waves.

“No, I went to the house and slept in my old room with Anchor. But there’s no telling what got knocked around on the boat or what it might’ve banged into it. I was going to go by as soon as the rain stops this afternoon and take a look. Will you come with me?”

“Yeah. But you look really tired.”

“Anchor snores. I was really just so happy that he’s still alive to snore. But I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep, no.”

“Well, why don’t we take a little nap and wait the rain out?” Martine suggested. “An actual nap.”

She did not have to twist Morgan’s arm. He had almost lost everything that mattered to him, including Martine. And now he was the happiest man in the world.

As he slept in her arms, Martine flashed through a whole scrapbook of future memories, including a glimpse of Morgan in his early fifties, a sinfully sexy silver fox. Okay, if he was going to look that good, then she was definitely going to have to forgive him.

*****

Martine had told Morgan just the broad strokes about the search for Theodore Kingston’s killer and her assisting Jeremy, omitting mention of the unsavory characters she had run into recently. But as they strolled along the marina, having checked Morgan’s boat for damage, the human drama that she had become a part of unfolded before them.

“I know those people,” Martine said.

She was referring to Naomi Webster and Zachary Brooks, who appeared to be engaged in something of a heated argument. Martine gave Morgan a more detailed debriefing about the possible homicide and the frequent and mysterious appearances of Naomi Webster.

Naomi had been seen arguing numerous times with Theodore Kingston, which appeared to be his doing. But Martine had also witnessed her arguing with Brady over the sale of his business. And now she was arguing with the buyer of the business, Zachary Brooks. Why was she taking such a personal interest in the selling of this yacht business? Frankly, why wasn’t she just relieved to have Theodore Kingston out of her life? If he was murdered, was this some kind of connection with this woman? And if not, why did she keep popping up?

Of course, Martine had not forgotten that Naomi would eventually find herself on the wrong end of a gun’s barrel. But as for who held the gun, she had no idea. Warning Naomi would be doubly difficult, not knowing for sure who her assailant was and trying to convince someone that she knew something bad was going to happen to them. She had already given that a try very recently.

Morgan listened with interest and then with increasing alarm as Martine talked about her involvement in the investigation. “This sounds pretty intense. The sounds like police business. Why should you be putting yourself at risk?”

“It’s still a suicide, as far as the police are concerned. I’m pretty sure they’re wrong. Everything about this feels wrong. It feels like something is seriously going on under the surface, if we could just put two and two together.”

“We, huh? I don’t know if I like the sound of this Jeremy character. Is he good-looking?”

Martine gave him a playful shove. “He’s hella-cute. He’s also dating the mayor. He’s a really good guy. You’d like him.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“Hey, that’s the guy I told you about. That’s the nephew, Brady Kingston.”

Along the promenade, Brady was standing next to his uncle’s black BMW with a For Sale sign on the back window, and he appeared to be negotiating with a potential customer.

“Book value is thirty grand. And she runs like a dream. But if you’ve got cash, I’m willing to take a hit. Twenty-two thousand cash, and she’s all yours.”

“That’s a little rich for my blood. I wasn’t looking to go over fifteen.”

“Fifteen cash? Is that a serious offer? Then we’ve got a deal. Fifteen thousand dollars cash. How soon can you get it?”

“I think my bank is closing right now, so first thing in the morning. Ten o’clock? Want to meet me over at First Federal Bank? In the lobby, and we’ll have ourselves a deal.”

The two young men shook on it, the customer took off, and Brady sighed with relief.

“Nice car. But you probably could’ve gotten more for it at a dealership,” Martine said, startling him from behind.

“I just . . . just needed to have a little cash handy. Until I could sell the house, you know.”

“Well, if you and your uncle each had a car, I can see why you don’t need two cars. But . . .” Why do you need to have a little cash handy when you just got $1.8 million wire transferred into your account? Martine decided against reminding him that he was super-rich now. It just seemed to her like a strange thing to lose sight of.

After a tasty brunch buffet together, Morgan left Martine to check out how his cable station had weathered the storm. Martine tucked away at the coffeehouse, and on a hunch, she decided to take another sneak peek at Brady Kingston’s bank account, as well as the vicarious thrill of seeing all those zeroes in an ordinary person’s account.

But Brady did not have $1.8 million in his account. He had about two thousand dollars. And unless she had missed something big the first time that she’d looked into him, there were no other bank accounts. What about offshore accounts? Recently opened? She spent some time pursuing that avenue. No luck. But she and Jeremy had witnessed Brady Kingston receiving a fortune via wire transfer into his account. Hadn’t they?

*****

Martine remembered that Zachary Brooks wasn’t the only one who had taken an interest in the Kingston yacht company. She stopped by the office of Kingston’s competitor, Mr. Smith, the same one wanted to bid against Zachary Brooks for the company.

“I know this is a strange question, but how much would you have paid for the company?”

“Six fine yachts, a good range from economy luxury to lifestyles of the rich and famous category. I would’ve gone as high as $1.2 million. It would take about five years to return a profit, but after that it would be all gravy.”

“So, $1.8 million was . . .”

“Overpriced. It was a misinformed business decision. My loss, and his loss as well, from a profit standpoint.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Zachary Brooks was new to the yacht business, as he had readily admitted. But it was still a foolish move to pay fifty percent over the value that a business is worth.

As Martine returned to the main street, the sight of the daily newspaper made her draw closer for a look at the headlines about the storm damage. Underneath it was an exciting announcement about the Powerball drawing. The numbers had been announced, and a winner had been located somewhere in Connecticut. All of the urgency and immediacy of the storm had put Mr. Milner on the back burner. She was now going to do something about him.

Just the thought of him was giving her a slight headache. She reached behind her and tried to rub the tension out of her neck. She heard a sigh of exasperation.

“That’s not the right spot. You got a stiff neck or a headache?” a deep, somewhat familiar voice asked.

Martine whirled around to find herself two inches away from contractor Gavin Ramsey. He reached up and drew a line from her earlobe straight down her neck and started giving her a gentle massage.

“You don’t work in construction for as long as I have without figuring out a solution to all the aches and pains. I’d be hobbling along like a little old man if I didn’t know how to straighten my muscles out. My wife says I ought to go into therapeutic massage. If it paid a hundred grand a year, then I’d be all over it. But I would just as soon have my contracting business back.”

His thoughts drifted away sadly as he continued to massage her tight neck muscles. It was the same eerie scene that had haunted Martine since she first saw his outstretched arms around her neck. Either something very bad was about to happen, or her neck was going to start feeling a whole lot better. It was the latter.

“All right then. I’ve got to get to the post office,” Gavin said. “I just wanted to . . . well, I’m pretty ticked off at the Kingstons, but there was no reason to take it out on you. Just hard not to have a job to go to.”

“I might be building a house in the near future. At least my boyfriend’s family is building a house, and I don’t think that they’ve hired anyone yet. I suppose that they’re going to shop around a little, but would you like to take a look at the blueprints and maybe put in a bid?”

“Would I ever! Anytime. Today, if you’d like.”

“Okay. They’re back at my apartment. Here’s my address. Why don’t we meet back there in, say, two hours?”

“Fantastic. I’ll see you there.”

Martine watched the man practically skip down the street. So, that was her premonition—hands around her neck, giving her a massage! If she had been so wrong about what that vision meant, maybe she was wrong about a few others as well. Maybe she was carrying too much weight on her shoulders, worrying about images that she might not even have interpreted properly.

She was close to Delphine’s boutique. She could at least share her relief with someone that she wasn’t about to be strangled. However, she was about to be ambushed. The three Hatch triplets were waiting for her impatiently, and Delphine shrugged apologetically.

“I believe that you’ve already met Michaela, Minerva, and Mallory Hatch.  And I hear that you’ve already generously provided them with a glimpse of their future, although understandably, it was not one that they were pleased with,” Delphine said. “They would like more information, and perhaps you can help them, but I think it’s only right that we demand a little in return.”

“What do you want?” Mallory asked with irritation.

“One of you was killed, or will be, by someone on the other side seeking vengeance. We need to hear about why that vengeance was being sought. Coming clean right now is really your only option. Martine is under no obligation to help you any further, and I may advise her in that direction.”

After a brief nod of mutual agreement, Minerva explained. “Lilith Hazelwood and Arabella Crowe were sworn enemies, as you know. Their family rivalry went back many generations. And then there was Fiona, but perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. At any rate, we wanted to be the most formidable power in Oyster Cove, and we needed to get rid of these queen bees, one by one. It would not be easy, since—”

“Since every single one of them had more power than the three of you combined?” Delphine asked icily.

Minerva grimaced. “Exactly so. So, our first maneuver was to have one of them take the other out. It was only by chance that we came upon Arabella after she had just performed the protection ceremony for her little Maximilian. It is an exhausting procedure, and it left her in a weakened state. So, we immediately informed Lilith that there would never be a better time to come in for the kill. Which she did, with no difficulty. That is why one should never have children. For whom else would you perform a spell that made you so vulnerable?”

“One queen bee down,” Delphine noted. “And then what was the next part of your plan?”

“We meant to get Arabella’s heart, and to consume it, and to be strengthened by it. But she beat us to it—Fiona beat us to it. Which was highly regrettable. The only advantage to us was that it made her a worthy adversary for Lilith Hazelwood.”

“And what was your involvement in Lilith Hazelwood’s death?”

“Yes. Tell us what your involvement in my death was,” Lilith fumed.

“If we were capable of getting rid of Lilith Hazelwood, we would’ve done it long ago.”

“But in Martine’s vision, the one who killed you was seeking vengeance from the grave.”

“Yes. That’s Arabella. She knew that we led Lilith to her at a time she could not defend herself. And as the premonition shows, somehow, she was able to get her revenge, and she doesn’t intend to rest until all three of us are in our early graves. There. There is your information, your confession. Now, we want this child to tell us how this fate can be avoided.”

“I don’t know if I can help you. I don’t always understand what I’m seeing. I don’t get to choose what or where or when the circumstances are of these premonitions. Although . . .”

“What?” Michaela asked fiercely.

“I did get the impression, especially this last time, that you were all quite a bit . . . older than you are now.”

Minerva brightened. “It is not for years hence. Is that she was saying?”

“I’m just saying that you were all a bit more wrinkled, if you don’t mind my saying so. So, no, I don’t think it’s any time in the near future.”

Michaela nodded gravely. “I suppose there is some comfort in that. In time, perhaps her skills will grow, and we may come to know precisely where the danger lies and how to avoid it.”

Without so much as a goodbye, the Hatch sisters filed out of the jewelry store.

“Well done,” Delphine said. “When you become part of this community, you must face down its darker elements and learn to stand your ground.”

“It wasn’t the Hatches. When they said that the one who defeated them came from the other side, I was certain that it was me. But it was Arabella. Arabella, whom I defeated.”

“Yes, we can remove the Hatches from your suspicions.”

“But now we know that Arabella is capable of seeking vengeance from the grave. Just as I intend to do.”

“Surely, you’re not concerned about the well-being of the Hatches?”

“You’re irritatingly slow, Delphine. If she can kill from the grave, then she would have started with me. Perhaps Arabella was the one who did me in.”

“If that is true, then your quest is done. You cannot kill her for vengeance if you already killed her in life and then suffered her vengeance. She’s already dead, Lilith. It is done. It is over.”

“It is not over. Because none of us has the power to strike the grave without a living ally. I will find that living ally, and I will strike them down.”

“Oh, Lilith. So much vengeance. When will it end?”

“When I have ended it.”

*****

Okay, so Gavin Ramsey—not a killer, a good masseur, and a top contender to build her dream home. The Hatch triplets—weird, weird, weird. And sinister. And ruthless. But they found her useful and didn’t seem to be a threat to her.

Christopher Milner—con artist and disappointed non-lottery winner. He was her immediate concern, and such a menace to society that he really ought to be behind bars. She went from Delphine’s shop to the public library to compile a comprehensive file on Milner. Something that the local police department might take an interest in.

Then it was time to head home so that she could meet Gavin Ramsey and show him the blueprints. But as she was walking up to her front entrance, she saw a man come from around the corner of the house, somewhat startled to see her. It was Christopher Milner. The look on his face hardened.

“There you are. You and that stupid cat of yours. So, you thought you’d have yourself a little joke. You gave me these worthless lottery numbers when I know full well that you are capable of choosing the right ones. And it would have cost you nothing. I could be a rich man, and it would have cost you nothing. And I would have nothing further to do with you. But you force me to make my point a little more clearly.”

Martine finally noticed that he was holding a bowl of what looked like half-eaten cat food.

“I put this out yesterday for your cat. It has a very strong poison in it. He’s probably not feeling too well, eh? Perhaps he has been throwing up? Perhaps he can still be saved, or perhaps not.”

Martine took a quick look at Mr. Lucky, who, although agitated by the sight of Milner, looked as healthy as ever. Then she took a look at the half-eaten poisoned food. It was covered with tiny nibbles.

“I think that you may have just helped out our landlord with our mouse problem. Feel free to put the rest out back for them.”

Milner grimaced. “Maybe I missed the mark this time. But I assure you that if you don’t give me those numbers that I want, the real numbers, then your cat’s days are numbered. I won’t miss the next time. And if losing your cat is not enough to alarm you, then perhaps you place some value on your own life, hmm?”

“Hey, buddy. What’s your problem?” Gavin Ramsey boomed from behind them. “It sounds to me like you’re threatening this lady. Maybe you need to pick on someone your own size. Or if you want a challenge, how about someone my size?”

“He put out some poisoned food for my cat. He’s trying to kill my cat, and then he’s threatening to kill me as well.”

“You are one bad apple. Why do I get the feeling that if we just let you walk away, you’re going to try to come back and hurt this lady? Maybe you and I need to have this out right now.”

Milner started backing away. It was time for this con artist to get out of Dodge. He didn’t see that another man had stepped out from the front hedges and was walking very angrily in his direction. A short man, very wiry, with very dark brown skin. He landed a punch right in the middle of Milner’s face.

“Listen to me good. You ever threaten my girl again, the next poison is going to be in your soup, in your toothpaste, and then, guess what? I take your lifeless body, set it on fire, and kill you again. Now if you value your life, you make sure we don’t ever lay eyes on you again. Are you hearin’ me?”

As Milner made a full terrified sprint for the street, Martine threw herself into the arms of her Uncle Pierre.